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A pipe could burst somewhere important. It could cause our floors to swell,
or make the ceiling drizzle onto our decadelong accrual of bargain bin albums,
and still, all I’d care about is how we can make our chocolate linguine tonight.
A half night of sleep lost over what to pair with our gorgonzola cream sauce,
over the wasted handful of parsley you snipped from the stalk just yesterday.
I’d cringe at the memory of clinking forks, even if they are swallowed up by the sound of distant fireworks. Or the tenor saxophone being played amidst the smattering of food trucks under the downtown pavilion. Or the umpire’s calling of ball four on the home team pitcher just before the phone rings in the bull pen.
The crown molding would sweat, and the wallpaper would curl, long before I’d ever speak lamentations of the morning sun slants or the headless streetlights. I’d sooner swish and swallow the dew like a sip of our finest bottle of Kentucky Proud Cabernet.
Our lights would flicker like a first kiss, like eyelids, like lips colliding in a dorm room, like hot to the touch and prickly. And I’d think,
maybe we could get a last-minute reservation at the Italian joint, and maybe if we showed the hostess our warped Billy Joel sleeve, she could squeeze us in anyway.
We’d be knee deep in our unintended new pool, and my toes would still find yours, and we’d go fishing for the stock pot and diving for the strainer. And I’d have just enough time to ask about your brother’s new girlfriend when the waves come rushing in, relentless and heavy, and sweep us clear down the stairs.
We would ebb along, bounce like buoys against white caps, and you’d tell me she’s fine, if not a little immature for her age.

You are special to me,
but not special in the way that you think,
I don’t believe you hung the moon and stars,
but when I look at you I will myself not to blink.

Because I don’t want to lose a single second,
of memorizing your features,
If I could stare at you forever it would not be enough,
and I’m not saying that because we are stupid teenagers.

But because you are special to me,
and not just special in your face,
though it feels like God spent extra time carving that,
just by existing you have become my safe space.

A place to be myself,
never have to pretend for even a second,
to be somebody I’m not,
and just for that, in my mind you are a legend.

Your voice soothes something in my soul,
that my mind could not ever comprehend,
my dreams are always filled with thoughts of us together,
even if for now it’s just pretend

You are special to me,
special in a different way,
the way that knows there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you,
and I hope you know I am here for you at any time of any day.

There is never an end to conversations with you,
and I don’t ever want that to change,
there’s never a time I don’t want to talk to you,
I could yap for hours you still wouldn’t think I’m strange.

No, you still look at me with that same look in your eyes,
the one that hasn’t changed from the start,
the look that says “some day I will marry you”,
the one I have memorized and lives rent-free in my heart.

You are so special to me,
more special than words could explain,
the kind of special that no matter how hard I tried,
I know I won’t ever find the same again.

But that doesn’t matter,
because I am not letting you go,
through thick and thin remember,
we pinky-promised and those are unbreakable you know.

Special is such a simple word,
but I can’t think of another,
because English has not yet come up with a word,
to describe how much more I feel for you than I do for any other.

So I’ll stick to calling you special,
and hope you know that you are much more than that.
You are so special to me,
that I would leave everything to be with you at the drop of a hat.

And that’s kind of terrifying,
but exciting all the same,
because I know you would do the exact same for me,
no matter what time that call came.

You are more than just special to me,
and I think you already know that,
but you should also know that you will always be special to me,
nothing and no one could ever change that fact.

-Diya Nettikadan 2024/07/28.

Play that song for me
The one we heard dodging cars on the highway
It sounded like brake lights and low beams
Choking on exhaust plumes and picking kicked up gravel from your hair
Surrounded by a symphony of a city
I sang a serenade in an off key harmony
And you danced like a lamb freshly fallen from the womb
The audience laughed in whispers and the streetlights spotlit our encore

A boxer without gloves
who dreams to get out of the ring
to get some sun.
I did not want to fight against you
and knock you out.
You and your lover.

Why did you want to arrange this match?

You know I never cared
about times, half-times,
intercostal pain,
the belly and its line…
Never cared
about the yelling crowd either.

I just wanted to go out,
to get an ice-cream somewhere,
with you,
in the sun.

I was fourteen years old when I met you;
Then sixteen years old when I fell
fast into Willie Nelson, music you could live in.
There are a lot of things that teach you to be in love:
Denver’s Mile High Market with
the open western sky: America.

It was a long drive when
we piled into the Jeep and you
whisked me off to where you were
from. It only took twelve
minutes to make me want years
in this house: dusty and old.

Everything and Anything

Quite a few years ago,
My life was fairly tough,
Wasn’t sure what to do,
Just knew enough was enough.

Once filled with fear,
Unable to see a way out,
But I slowly regained my confidence,
Started removing my self doubt.

Jumped through every burning hoop,
Played the long hard game,
Made a promise to my boys and me,
We’d never ever go through the same.

I’ve fought through it all,
Nearly absolutely everything,
As my love for my boys,
Means more than anything.

©️Ailsa Wright 2025

I named him
silver tongue
after the shade of trees.
Between the meeting of our voices,
he sang a blasphemous song.
The way cacti splice open
for the sun under the anvil of time…
The way their porcupine spines
cut its rays and make the gods bleed.

It was like eyes looking into eyes
turning to dust
hatching stone…
looking into the abyss
becoming the abyss
the hiding from the unspoken,
the casting of the unknown.

I have only this skin.
He is draped in armor
like solid matter
like the invention of sin.
The trees howl
without letting him out.
Without him knowing they
save his place under their
damp foundations…

I want to take him there.

Where there is a distinctive taste
of beauty
an innocence of the un-bound.
a fervor towards pepper-spiked tea
a revulsion to stale spice
a kiss of truth burning his
esophagus on the way down.

He sits with the curve of his back pressed
against the cold, indifferent brick wall,
where within, among the glaring fluorescent lights
regular people shuffle along with their zombie walk.
The tendrils of chill seep through his torso,
curl about the tips of his fingers as they protrude
from his thinning and fraying fingerless gloves,
and nibble at his toes through the cracks in his worn shoes.
His matted hair gathers in thick branches across his drooping shoulders,
hangs over his eyes –
eyes that have seen the underside of our world,
the side that regular eyes notice not –
blue eyes with cracks of red veins reaching across the white.
Coughing, his lungs a-rattle like the change in his tin cup he shakes in the air,
he wheezes as another real-world person walks out of the store
and begs for change to put food in his belly –
Regular Man turns his head in disgust,
his kind almost always do –
and the beggar drops his cup to his side once more,
waiting for a person, a good person, the right person,
to show him a rarity in his world –
a kindness.

Cast stones ‘gainst
Dark bedrooms,

“Mother, I’m scared,”
She cries. Eyes wet.

Cast those stones,
Rid the self of demons
And ghosts, and monsters.

Before the switch gets flipped
And he is standing in front of

you.

As a boy You played
The mud
Flapped in it
Freckled
With soil
Warm puddles
Reflected the steep
Ahead

You push the clay,
You will burn it soon,
In a pot of stolen fire,
Burn some stolen clay,
Only a few more steps,
Only if it hardens,
Freezes into rock,

He pushes the Rock
Pushing it for so long
It’s so wrong
How the hill stretches
He’s tired now
The cold bones ache
Hands
Slack and stale
He warms by pushing
Into clay
Burns him in him
But he can’t use his hands
You can’t use them.